Darkest Place

by Jaye Ford

  ‘She’s aware of that.’

  ‘I remember she had some problems with this dosage. I notice it’s dated several months ago. Perhaps I should call and discuss it with her.’

  Carly was tempted to tell him Elizabeth’s pain was worse, that she hadn’t been able to walk to the shops, that she was intelligent enough to decide for herself. But Elizabeth was a proud woman and it wasn’t up to Carly to discuss her symptoms, even with the local pharmacist … especially not with this one.

  ‘You know what?’ She took the prescription back. ‘I’ll sort this out with her. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘I’ll be here all day if you need any further advice.’

  ‘That took much longer than I expected,’ Elizabeth said as she opened her door, a little fresher than when Carly had left. ‘I hope there were no problems.’

  Carly hoisted two bags onto Elizabeth’s counter. ‘Not at all.’ She’d ended up driving to a shopping mall to have Elizabeth’s prescription made up, found a bigger supermarket and shopped for herself as well while she picked up her neighbour’s few items.

  ‘You left your flowers with my shopping,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘They’re for you.’ Carly freed a bunch of pale pink lilies. ‘They reminded me of your beautiful silver vase and the visits to the flower markets in Paris you told me about. I thought they might give you sunny memories in this overcast weather.’

  For a moment, she thought Elizabeth was going to refuse them. The older woman simply looked at them without any attempt to take them from Carly’s outstretched hand. Maybe she was annoyed at how her grocery pennies had been spent.

  ‘My treat,’ Carly added. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh, Carly.’ Instead of taking the flowers, Elizabeth reached for Carly’s hand. ‘How lovely you remembered my tales of Paris. You are a dear, dear girl.’

  ‘They’re probably nothing like the glorious blooms you can buy in Paris but …’

  ‘They are perfect. Thank you. Come on, we must share. It’s a big bunch, plenty for two vases. Your kind thought can brighten up two apartments.’ She had the bundle of stalks on the counter, already opening the cellophane wrapping.

  ‘I don’t have anything big enough to hold them.’

  ‘Carly, dear, I have enough vases to furnish every apartment on the first floor.’ She pointed a bony finger at the shelves. ‘Fetch me the silver one, will you? And the tall one in that cabinet.’

  Five minutes later, Carly had filled them with water and Elizabeth had fussed over the arrangements until she was satisfied.

  ‘There,’ Elizabeth said, stepping back for a last appraisal. ‘This one is for you.’ She cupped her hands around the aged silver of the vase she’d found in a Parisian basement.

  ‘I can’t take that one.’

  ‘Of course you can. My treat, as you say.’ Elizabeth slid it across the counter towards Carly. ‘May the flowers give you sunny thoughts also, and the vase the courage to imagine yourself in Paris. To follow your dreams.’

  Why did this woman make her teary? Back in her own apartment Carly set the flowers in the centre of her little table, stepped back and looked them over as Elizabeth had done. She thought about the dream she’d once had for an adventurous life, which had died with her friends. What she wanted now was a life worthy of the ones lost on her account. She could find it here – if her subconscious didn’t screw it up, if she did more than lie still when a man climbed on top of her.

  ‘How did you break your ankle?’ Carly asked Brooke. They’d met in the lift during the week – Brooke suggested a coffee on Saturday, Carly picked the cafe on the walkway. This morning it was warm enough to sit outside under a heater.

  ‘I fell down the loft stairs,’ Brooke said.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Carly thought of the nights she’d stumbled from the loft and the bruises she couldn’t remember getting. Maybe she’d been lucky. ‘Were you on your own?’

  ‘It was the middle of the night and the phone was by the bed. I had to drag myself across the living room floor and bash on the wall to wake my neighbour. I was just glad I had decent pyjamas on.’ Her grin made her look like a different person to the one Carly had talked to at the harbour last weekend.

  ‘Why were you up?’

  She shrugged. ‘I can’t remember now. I figure I must have been thinking about work and went to check on something. I’ve woken up a couple of times standing at my computer with no idea what I’m doing there. One of the drawbacks of working from home. But here’s a piece of advice – turn on a light before you go downstairs in the middle of the night.’ Brooke’s eyes flicked past Carly. ‘Don’t look now but there’s a guy over there who keeps looking at you.’

  Wariness tingled across Carly’s shoulders. ‘Someone from the warehouse?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  Because if she wasn’t dreaming, someone knew how to get into her apartment. ‘I …’

  ‘He’s quite nice-looking and … yes, he’s coming over.’

  Carly wanted to escape the cluster of tables and heaters, but she could only turn in her chair without knocking something over. As she did, a body filled the space beside her.

  ‘Carly?’ Dark hair and eyes.

  Her heart thumped. She knew him, she’d seen him. Somewhere. Was it him?

  ‘Dean,’ he said. ‘Constable Dean Quentin. I came to your apartment a couple of times.’

  Shit. Fuck. ‘Sure, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘No problem. Most people only notice the uniform. I saw you over here and thought I’d drop by on my way out.’

  Carly shot Brooke a quick glance. ‘Right.’ She got to her feet, wanting to keep the conversation private.

  ‘How are you now? You’re looking better.’

  Every time he’d met her she’d been in pyjamas and hysterical. And he’d carried handcuffs and a gun and threatened to arrest her. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  He gave Brooke a nod, looked back at Carly and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve been on day shift for a couple of weeks but I’ve been checking the log. There were no more call-outs to your apartment.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  Carly didn’t comment, not sure if he was repeating his earlier warning or giving her a pat on the back for being well behaved.

  ‘The situation you had, is it sorted now?’

  He’d accused her of making up an intruder for entertainment – he might not have been far from the truth. ‘It’s … I’m …’

  ‘I meant what I said, Carly. If you need to talk to someone about it, if you’re scared, you can talk to me.’

  And tell him what? She was scared to go to sleep and she wasn’t sure why?

  24

  ‘e-Greeting cards,’ Dakota said, looking up from her list.

  Carly shook her head. ‘Something in e-publishing.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I don’t know, but you read and you’re good on the computer, you could put them together.’

  ‘That’s specific.’

  ‘It’s brainstorming, not a recipe.’

  Carly grinned. ‘We should get back to class.’

  Dakota tucked the page into her pocket. ‘So you found your watch?’

  ‘In the cutlery drawer.’ Carly rolled her eyes as she dropped their coffee cups in a bin.

  ‘I’ve started on Round Two, by the way,’ Dakota said.

  ‘Round Two?’

  ‘The “Anything Carly Showed Interest In” list. We can start culling that when I cut your hair.’

  Carly ran a hand over her ponytail. ‘Won’t you need to concentrate?’

  ‘Nah, if I make a mistake, I’ll just cut more off. You’ll look good with short spikes. Just kidding.’

  Carly turned to see what the commotion was about at the other checkout. The owner of the little supermarket in Baxter Street was towering over a woman who was bustling and huffing to get around
him.

  Oh dear. It was Christina.

  Carly watched for a moment, catching a few words: ‘I did not,’ from Christina, ‘… haven’t paid,’ from the owner. Christina was shoplifting? Then the scuffle was over, and as Carly paid she saw Christina leaving, weaving a little, bumping into the automatic door as she passed through. Christina was drunk and shoplifting?

  Outside, the afternoon air was cold enough to steam Carly’s breath. Christina was leaning against a parked car, a hand to her forehead, getting wet in the rain. Maybe she was sick.

  ‘Christina?’

  The woman looked up and flushed. ‘Oh god, oh damn. I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m mortified. That man thought I was stealing rolled oats. Who steals rolled oats?’

  ‘You’re in the rain, Christina. Come and sit down.’ Carly took her elbow and steered her to a seat outside the pharmacy. She didn’t smell of alcohol but she was unsteady and loose. ‘Do you feel all right? You seem … not quite yourself.’

  ‘Bernard’s away. That’s what’s wrong.’

  She needed a carer? ‘Does Bernard usually do your shopping?’

  Catching her breath, pulling herself together, Christina laughed a little. ‘No, he’s a milk and bread man only. It’s just, well, I get muddle-headed when he’s not around. Never tried to steal anything. He won’t be happy if he finds out.’

  ‘He’ll be mad at you for that?’

  ‘Not cross. He worries about me. Ever since that business with the farm. He knows I don’t sleep well when he’s gone. That’s what this silly thing with the oats is about. It makes me dreadfully off the air.’ She shook her head like she was shaking out the cobwebs.

  So Bernard was her husband and maybe she took sleeping pills when he was away – maybe one too many this time. ‘You want to share my umbrella on the way back?’

  Christina patted at her shopping bags. ‘I had one. Somewhere. If you don’t mind.’

  She bumped and bounced off Carly as they crossed the road, Carly eventually linking an arm through Christina’s and holding her close.

  ‘Is it nightmares?’ Carly asked, thinking about the violent robbery at Christina’s farm.

  ‘Yes and no. All part of that nasty post-traumatic thing they said I had. Just a lot of trouble sleeping when I’m alone, really.’

  It didn’t sound like sleep paralysis but it felt like company. ‘Do you worry about security in the building?’

  ‘No, no. The security is excellent. Oh, except for that recent incident, you poor thing.’

  ‘The police said there’d been other break-ins. A year or so ago.’

  ‘Oh, yes, and that. I’d forgotten about that.’

  Possibly Christina didn’t need to be reminded if Bernard was still away, but the police had told Carly next to nothing, and if the hand on her throat was … ‘Do you know what happened?’

  ‘There were two or three, from memory,’ Christina started as they made their way arm in arm towards the warehouse. ‘In about just about the same number of weeks. Phillipa Bakewell was the first, I think, and Tobias on the second floor. Yes, and Lola Matthews, which was a little awkward, as it turned out, because her husband had left her for another woman and she’d been keeping it a secret. Hoping he’d come back, I heard, which didn’t eventuate. Their apartment went on the market quick smart after that.’

  ‘They were robbed?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think so.’

  ‘At night?’

  ‘That’s right, now I remember. Tobias saw someone in his apartment, and after it happened again to poor Lola the security doors were adjusted so they’d close without having to be pushed.’ Christina stopped at the entrance to the warehouse, at the bottom of the stairs opposite said security doors. ‘I could do with a push myself today,’ she puffed. ‘You go on ahead, if you like. I’ll be out of the rain from here.’

  ‘No, I’ll wait. Make sure you get up the stairs,’ Carly smiled like she was joking.

  Christina took a couple of deep breaths and hauled herself up and through the doors. ‘Now that I’m thinking about it,’ she said as they crossed the foyer. ‘There was that other woman a few years ago who made a big fuss about security. What was her name?’

  ‘What was the fuss?’

  ‘Something about an ex-husband. Oh yes, Maggie something, east wall, I think. She said her ex had got into her apartment one night and, well, I don’t know. He scared her, that’s for sure. Probably why she left him. She didn’t stay long after that. Lost a fair bit of money on the rent she’d paid in advance, I heard.’

  Carly hit level five in the lift.

  ‘You don’t need to come up with me, Carly. I’ll be fine from here.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t mind.’

  ‘The cold and the rain and a nice chat and I’m feeling a bit less muddle-headed.’ Christina pulled a face. ‘Still mortified, of course.’

  ‘No need.’ Carly stepped out on her floor. ‘Let me know if you need a hand with shopping while Bernard’s away.’

  ‘Thank you, Carly. I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

  Personal shopper, Carly thought as the cab closed. There were enough residents in the warehouse to keep her in work.

  She locked her door, hooked up the chain and walked through the apartment, thinking about the other break-ins. Christina’s version wasn’t the eight or nine over six years that Anne Long had mentioned. Maybe Anne was being casual with the numbers, maybe there were others that Christina didn’t know about.

  Maybe they had no relevance to Carly’s ‘intruder’.

  The only relevance was that Christina had reminded Carly what could happen if she didn’t get some decent sleep. She made a cup of the chamomile tea she’d been drinking. Had another after dinner, then got on the floor for some stretching and deep breathing before bed. She kept the lights low as she undressed and cleaned her teeth, slipped under the doona and told her subconscious to relax.

  Carly lurched forward, down. The stairs shuddered. She slammed into the wall, hit the handrail, missed a tread. Grappling as she fell, slowing herself, she slipped and tumbled until the floor hit her in the back like a thwack from a cricket bat.

  She lay for a moment, one foot in the air, the ankle wedged between two steps. Brooke, she thought, taking half a second to assess for pain before yanking her leg out and scuttling away on hands and knees. She was around the corner into the mouth of the hallway before she remembered.

  Sleep paralysis, Carly.

  Knees to her chest, sweat hot in her hair, she touched her cheek, her ear, her throat. Was it?

  She reached for the switches above her head, squinting as the hallway and living room filled with light, flicking her gaze around the walls, the stairs, the loft. She was alone. Like every other time. Terrified and sobbing and doing it to herself. What more evidence did she need?

  Pushing to her feet, she pitched left and right down the hall as she stumbled towards the front door, sinking to the floor again. The same place she’d ended up every other time, comfort in the tight, familiar corner.

  Sounds in the corridor froze her sobs. Footsteps. Approaching, retreating, coming back. Then a tap on the door.

  ‘Carly? It’s Nate.’ His voice was little more than a murmur. ‘I heard noises from your apartment.’

  She wiped her tears with the heel of a hand, didn’t answer.

  ‘I know you’re on the other side of the door, Carly.’

  She didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t want comfort. She wanted the night to end and the day to start, to be outside and walking and past it all.

  ‘Let me help, Carly.’

  She remembered his words the night he bought the Indian takeaway, before she tried to kiss him. I don’t want to sit in there doing nothing if there’s something I can do to help. There was nothing he could do to help. It was all in her head and she didn’t want him to know what was wrong with her.

  ‘I’m okay.’ The tremor in her words made it a l
ie.

  The next time he spoke, he sounded as though the door was all that separated their faces. ‘I thought you fell. More than once. Are you hurt?’

  Injured, no. Aching, everywhere. She spread her hands, saw half-moons carved into her palms from her nails. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  Was he thinking intruder or a one-night stand that got out of hand? ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m right here, Carly.’

  She could almost feel him. And she wished he’d go away so she could wait out the night in her hallway corner. Alone, the way she’d done it for years. ‘You don’t need to be. It’s the middle of the night. Go home, Nate.’

  ‘No questions. Like I said.’

  He’d told her it didn’t matter what she’d done. But it mattered to her – that he wanted to help someone in need and she was only scared of the dark. That he was brave and she was broken. ‘Go home, Nate. Please.’

  ‘I don’t want to sit in there with you here like this.’

  His frustration lit a spark. She fired words back, glad to feel something other than misery. ‘It’s none of your damn business.’

  ‘Carly …’

  ‘Go away and leave me the hell alone!’

  25

  Stuart was behind the dispensary counter in the pharmacy. It made Carly falter. She was buying sleeping pills – she didn’t want a discussion about the medication and the dates and the doctor who’d written the script. But she had to get to class and she couldn’t do the terrified stumble down the hall again. She needed to sleep tonight.

  She stood at the counter for a minute before he pulled his eyes from the computer screen. ‘Can I help you?’

  She waited a beat. ‘Carly. From the warehouse.’

  A small shake of his head. ‘Of course.’